


Of Monsters, Magic and Memories

by LyraeCash



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: F/F, F/M, It got me thinking, M/M, Multi, Season 3 Finale
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-24
Updated: 2018-09-15
Packaged: 2019-04-27 03:24:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 17,904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14416638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LyraeCash/pseuds/LyraeCash
Summary: After all that Quentin became the jailor anyways.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't written anything in a long time, but after the finale I was feeling inspired to think about what's coming next. I know some other people have had a similar reaction and I've enjoyed reading your stories.
> 
> Also I'm new to this archive and I have just no idea how to tag things. Feeling really old right now.

The weirdo, mugger, possible sexual assailant knocked the air out of Brian as his arms wrapped around him.  Brian vaguely remembered an old self defensive class. He tried to wiggle in the prescribed manner, but the other’s skinny arms didn’t waiver or scramble for purchase.  Brian wouldn’t have been able to hold a house pet so securely.

“They covered you up,” the taller man rested his cheek against Brian’s forehead, voice sympathetic.  “I can fix that.”

It was a car crash in this brain.  Everything noisy, broken, and dying.  Quentin went limp in almost Eliot’s arms, hands buried in his back jacket.

* * *

Head pulsing, Quentin dragged the Eliot monster to Brian’s apartment.  He sat it down on the couch. Brian Q hadn’t believed in TV but he had been into adult coloring books.  He leaned against his kitchen counter, watching the Eliot thing investigate crayons with great cusioursity.  

Grasping the edge of the sink, Quentin hands twitched eagerly.  He could feel it, smell it more like. Magic wafted like the smell of bread outside a bakery.  Tempting but suddenly allusive. He tried to catch it, hands gliding through different motions.  The weight was off, where magic before had been a stream water, now it was just mist in the air. Spell after spell nothing happened.  This little something was so much worse than nothing.

“Quentin, I’m bored,” it was sullen and delivered with a pout.  The lights all flickered. Quentin choose not to comment on that.

* * *

There was some pain as he rotated his wrist and flicked the card from where he had it palmed and to put it to the bottom of the deck.  His hands calmly continued the root motions of the trick as he stared at the monster, the child, his Eliot that sitting across from him.  His eyes starting to lose focus. He had been entertaining the thing for hours now.

“Is this your card?” he held up the ace of hearts.  Eliot”s eyes went mischievous, he ducked his head and hid his smile behind to his balled up fists.  

“Noo.. it’s not,” giggles racked his lean frame for a moment before he stifled them.

“Then what was your card?”

“A different one… mmm one with spears.”

“Spades.  Are you sure?” the hollowed man wiggled like an excited toddler for a moment.  He remembered Ted doing the same thing while stumbling through a story of mischievous fairies who had stolen the cookies.  It was delivered with earnest and gaping plot holes only a child can get away with. For instance the crumbs smeared across his face had never entered into the plotline.  

Eliot, shit-stirrer and lover of good drama, gently suggested increasingly dramatic additions to their son’s story, leading to Shakespearean level intrigue and the inclusion on anachronistic submarine.  Arielle hid her smile behind her hand. Quentin had to duck his face into shirt to maintain is fatherly digianty. Eliot listened and prompted with deadly seriousness however. When it was all over Eliot consider deeply for a moment.

“I think that story deserved a few cookies,” he picked up Ted to look him in the eye.  “But just remember next time it’s got to be even better. It you can’t keep those ratings up no more cookies.  We can workshop it through before next time.” He gave the boy an overextradorated kiss on the cheek making him smile, nuzzle his head into Eliot’s shoulder.  He glanced at the other two parents. “I can make more cookies,” with a shrug.

This time Eliot wasn’t there to make the lie into an epic, so the thing simply said “No, it was the first one,” its eyes locked onto Quentin and it smiled, absent-mindedly biting his exposed tongue “I got you Quentin.”

“You… you definitely got me,” therapy taught one the important skill of a forced smile.

* * *

After much coaxing, Quentin had tricked his charge into sleep.  His arm was going numb under Eliot’s body. Cuddling had, of course, been mandatory.  It nestled further into his shoulder, causing Eliot’s hair to brush against his stumble.  It’s hands were curled beneath its chin, long legs awkwardly intertwined with his.

Quentin stared at his bookshelf, the spines illuminated by the streetlights.  No Fillory. No magic, real, close-up or otherwise. Quentin had never read most of them, but he had read all of them.  The stories rested in his brain like cliff notes. The stories were there but the emotions they provoked, the smell of the paper, the towering pile he had saved them from was gone or simply had never existed. Apparently Brian-Q was still all about the disillusioned, coming of age classics.  Quentin was rather proud he had at least avoided the “Catcher in the Rye” cliche.

“I dunno disillusioned coming of age sounds pretty Coldwater to me,” Eliot’s voice.  Not the singsong version, but the sharp one he knew better. Quentin’s head snapped back to the man in his arms.  Its eyes were closed, and it stayed unmoving. A hand gently squeezed the back of his neck and slowly turned his head around until a second Eliot came into view, sitting on the side of the bed quietly but aggressively shushing him.  

“Are you a ghost?”

“No, not yet,” Eliot shrugged “at least I don’t think so. Look I can’t keep up this inception bullshit up for long and if you wake it, that’ll be the permanent end to The Classic Eliot Show.  We gotta find the others,” Eliot grabbed his free shoulder, eyes a little wild, shimmering like a cats in the dark. “Then we gotta handle the shiphon and the library and Fillory and the fairies..”

“How?”

“We’ll figure it out when the band’s back together.”

“No how do I find everyone?  I don’t have magic. They’ve got on memories.”

“Use it,” he gestured to himself lying on the bed.  “He found you across dimensions, he can find them across town,” Quentin furrowed his brow as he’s head minutely shook.

“I’m not sure.  He’s like a .. kid.”

“It’s power Quentin, pure fucking power.  It wants to help you take out your wrath, just let it,” Quentin gaped, jaw working to form a rebuttal.  When Eliot squeezed his neck again, the poor man’s hug when one is trapped under a monster god.

“Times up.  I love you,” Eliot let him go.  “And don’t let it eat too much candy or bungy jump and maybe a shirt with a bit of color.  That’s still my body.. Kinda,” Quentin followed his gaze to the lanky form next to him. When his eyes darted back to Eliot he was gone.  The monster or the Eliot or the Eliots hummed some contented tune in its sleep.

“We gotta give you a name.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Children aren't purposefully difficult.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who read this and a special thanks to those who left feedback. It was all very kind and encouraging.
> 
> I decided to continue. I hope people like where it goes. A littler more plot in this one to get the ball rolling.
> 
> I love the feedback, it really makes my day when anyone leaves a comment or kudos, and honestly the interaction makes me more eager to write, so blackmail.

“I liked it when she called me Love.”

“That’s not really a name though, here on Earth.  If we’re going to go out into the world like this more, you’re going to need more of an... Earth name,” Quentin had lost track of how many variations of this argument he had presented over the last half hour.  The monster had its arms crossed and feet dug in.

They sat together at a small table in a local coffee shop Brian use to frequent.  There wasn’t anything to eat in the apartment and grocery shopping with a child-like-god seemed at best perilous.   They had gotten breakfast, but so far only Quentin had eaten. He decided not to press the topic, unsure if it actually needed to eat or just did so for the entertainment.

“They said I shouldn’t have a name,” Quentin focused on the other’s face.  That information was new.

“Who said that?” the creature was idly playing a game on some tablet Q had found, aggressively avoiding eye contact.  It shrugged. “You know you can tell me right? I mean if you want.”

“Just they,” it was matter-a-fact.  It waved a hand in what may be “their” general direction.

“Well, they’re not here and I say you can have one,” it finally arched a brow, intrigued by that declaration.  It uncrossed its arms and let its elbows drop to the table. Head cradled in its hands, it cocked its head to the side as if listening to something.  “I got a list from the internet I could read some, see if you like any of..”

“Samael,” it was sitting up straight again.  Whatever it was listening for must have come through.

“Samael, Sam, good name, good choice.”

* * *

They sat in companionable silence for most of the morning.  Bessedly, the newly minted Samael had been solely focused on his matching game most of the morning. Calypso was a talented women.  Quentin ping-ponged across the internet, trying to keep Brian’s life together, or together enough to keep them living indoors. He poured over social media and some government records trying to figure out if Quentin Coldwater had ever existed in this new world and looking for hints of the others.  

Quentin took a deep breath and put down his phone.  He couldn’t even track down his own father who to the best of his knowledge had not been stuffed into another life.  

“Hey, can I ask you something?” he tried to keep his tone light and gentle.

“There were others in the castles at first, but they just got in the way,”  its eyes never left the screen. They were still completely focused, shadowed by a curtain of Eliot’s hair.  It was the first time that voice had sounded like Eliot’s. No sing-song, no child-like wonder, just the certainty of a king. Quentin pressed back against his chair, giving himself a little more room.

“Can you read my thoughts?”

“Not really,” it shrugged.  “You’re with me, you don’t need them.”

“They would be your friends too,” Sam continued swiping. “I just thought... it’d be fun.  Like an adventure, a mystery to solve together,” Quentin weakly interlaced his fingers to display their possibly eternal bond.  “I’ve been on quests with almost all my friends. The adventures.. made us friends… best friends.” Samael’s head lolled to the side, seemingly exhausted with this conversation.  “You don’t have to. I just.. I would like to find them, like you found me. It was a good thing... a nice thing that you did that,” it sighed a bit dramatically and rested its chin against its chest, facing down.  

Quentin reached back and squeezed the back of his own neck in sympathy.  Drunken stumbles, fighting the forces of evil, and thousands of hours of upper-body spell work had left most of their necks and shoulders prematurely ruined.  He didn’t know if Sam felt physical pain, but just in case he would try to add stretches to their day. Eliot’s head bobbed up suddenly. Samael fixed its eyes on him, smiled and leaned over the table.  

“You like surprises Quentin?” a conspiratorial whisper and wide, excited eyes.  

“Ah.. yeah?” the monster thrust its hand out into the aisle almost knocking their neighboring table.  

“I can make it a surprise for both of us,” it turned its palm upwards, held Eliot’s long arm aloft for a moment, blocking cafe traffic. Quentin was unable to get clarification before it raised its hand straight up and let it drop straight down.  Its hand bounced off the chair with a slap before returning to the tablet. Sam went quiet, laser focus back on candy matching.

Quentin’s eyes darted around the room, looking for a familiar face to have entered or for a map to appear in the windows or for a glimmer of light pointing north or for really anything at all. Quentin could feel something akin to magical draft rolling through the cafe, but other than that, nothing was changed.

“Did it work?”

“Of course it worked,” Sam was afronted, like an eight year old asked if they know how to tie their shoelaces.

“But…,” Q rolled his shoulders, debating whether it was worth having this argument or not.  “You know, that’s … that’s not what magic looks like and nothing happened.” Sam looked up, squinting at Quentin as though he was reevaluating his intelligence.  

“If it happened right away, it wouldn’t be a surprise.” 

* * *

Life was not very surprising for a few days.  Quentin would reflect a few hours later on this fact and realize that given he was glaunvating around town with a naive being with god like power, the fact nothing had yet to go terribly wrong was a hint at larger forces at work.  They’re were at a family owned Mexican restaurant in Chinatown, a combination that was very desirable in Brian’s hipster circles.

Quentin stepped away for a moment to get their food at the counter.  When turned around their was woman standing next to their table, talking down to Sam.  The woman looked Chinese, but was speaking in rapid Spanish. It wasn’t clear if he understood what she was saying or if simply being approached by an aggressive stranger had him sinking down in his seat.  She reached for his arm.

“Hey!” Quentin threw the food down on an empty table and picked up the pace.  “Get away from him,” she didn’t move. “Vete!” Q had a passable amount of spanish, but not much in the way a threatening strangers.  Only when he approached did she turn.

Quentin was flying across the room before he knew what was going on.  She was dead before he hit the floor.

By the time Quentin picked himself back up, the restaurant's family was barricaded in the back calling the police, the woman looked like she been shattered as though you could break someone’s skin like an iPhone screen, and Samael was kneeling next to the body, playing with her hair.  

“We need to get out of here,” Quentin knelt next to Sam trying to get his attention, but the sirens got that first.

“Why are they so loud?” standing up, Sam glued his hands over his ears, sneering annoyance. The sirens were only getting louder.  The lights had been flickering faster and faster since Quinton sat back up. Unfortunately teleportation and concussions rarely mixed.  The smile Q conjured was strained and filled with too many teeth.

“You wanna play hide and seek?” Sam was pouting, confused but nodded.  “Ok blip back to the apartment and… and I’ll come home and find you? You can find your way there, right?” it nodded dutifully, but continued to watch the police pull up.  “Then go, find a good place,” Q forced a light voice while Samael continued to look out the window. Quentin gently pushed its legs, trying to get it moving one way or another.

It’s eyes lit up and a smile leapt onto Eliot’s face as the monster leaned over Quentin kneeling.  It moved in close, letting its forehead rest heavily against his.

“I told you it worked,” it cooed in triumphant sing-song, body electric with excitement.  “Surprise Quentin!” Samael waited until the doors burst open before he finally faded out of the room.   

Quentin put his hands into the air like they told him too.  Turning slowly, he faced the two plain clothes policemen who had rushed in through the door.  The first was a black man, shaved head, clearly somewhere on the middle-age crisis spectrum. His partner, a twenty-something woman with dark curly hair and sharp eyes, stood next to him.

“Kady?” Quinton’s hands started to drift back down his sides.

“Hands up,” they barked together.

“Oh right,” Q’s hands shot back up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The TV writers said in a interview that not everyone's flash at the end was all that it seemed which is good cause I want something more for Kady. She's the warrior after all.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's not really protocol for this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again for everyone's comment and kudous! I love them. I hope you're all still enjoying this madness, because I am.

“For the first time on the beat Detective Rebecca Garcia!” a booming voice welcomed Becca as she stepped out onto her stoop.  Detective Jeffrey Walker was leaning on an unmarked card holding a two coffees, one demure in a its simple paper cup and the other ladened with whip cream and other complex sugars.  “Here I got you one of those six dollar coffees you love to hate. You need the energy for your first night in plain clothes.”

“It’s a milkshake not coffee,” she stared at it for moment, swirls of carmel, chocolate and blended ice looking sickeningly sweet.  But none of that was the whipped cream’s fault so she took it anyways, pulling up the straw to suck whip cream off the top. “And only my mother ever called me Rebecca,” as they climbed into the car. Jeffery turned over the engine while Becca turned on the radio and started to flip through the cases they inherited from the day shift.

“I know being loaned out to vice got you your promotion...”

“And put me in the position to help get several dealers and kilos of heroin off the streets.”

“We all read the report, calm down.   Though I’m truly impressed by the fact that you’re only a ratty shirt away from a full blown hoodlum,” Becca smiled to herself.

“It’s an internal badass thing, you wouldn’t understand.”

“Regardless, I’m glad to have you back partner,” Becca ran out of whipped cream and hit frappuccino below.  It wasn’t terrible, for a milkshake. He squeezed her upper arm and smiled over at her. Walker had three kids, she imagined this was this fatherly pride mode, or a slightly less genuine version of it.

“They forced you to be partners with Williams didn’t they?” caught, her partner’s hands darted back to the steering wheel, clenching.

“There is something wrong with that man’s body.  That’s not smell a healthy person can make. It’s begun to haunt ... ” the radio burst into life.

“All cars report.  We have a 10-54 and possible active shooter at La Hacienda corner of Rudolph and Locus,” her partner was already pulling into traffic as Becca hit their siren and picked up the radio.

“Garcia badge number KML89113 and Walker badge number LLT98990 responding.”

* * *

 

Several hours later, Becca Garcia had one bizarre dead body, the slightly nonsensical testimony of a terrified Mexican family, and a hipster of interest with a head wound.  The man in question, Brain Merchant, who preferred to be called Quentin for some reason, was currently cuffed to the table in interrogation room three. Garcia watched him through the two way glass.  The time was wearing on him. His leg was bouncing faster and faster. His glance darted around the room as though his integators were as likely to come through the walls as the door. Walker cracked the door and snuck in to stand next to her.  They both studied the man, spectator’s in a strange zoo.

“We should have the preliminary cause of death shortly.  What did you find on him?” Becca had run the normal background checks, read some of his social media, there was a rather regrettable blog on old record pressings, and thrown in a google for good measure.

“Most interesting thing was a few short stints in psych wards, all less than 72 hours.  Never declared a danger to himself or others. Beyond that no bar brawls, no drug charges, no jaywalking.”

“Parking tickets?”

“Doesn’t drive.”

“Shit.  Maybe he snapped?  Went off his meds?”

“Let’s go ask,” Jeffery followed her as she marched into the interrogation room.  They dropped heavily into the metal folding chairs across from Quentin. The good cop and bad cop had yet to emerge so both defaulted to polite, sympathetic smiles that were just a bit threatening.

“We’re going to have to ask you a few question,”  Becca began.

* * *

 

So far he conversation had been fairly circular.  Becca had been pressing the same line of question again and again waiting for an inconsistency that never came.  He went to pick up dinner alone. Unprovoked a woman knocked him down hard when he got back up she was dead. No memory of the tall, dark haired, caucasian male the family had seen.  Repeat. The man was consistent but the passage of time continued to wear on him, his answers getting a little more frantic and angry as he spewed out the same information again and again.  In her peripheral, Walker raised his brow slightly. Silent communication was important between partners. She knew this expression was his tactful way of saying she was getting shit all from the witness.  Time for something new.

“You called me Kady back on the scene, why did you do that?” the suspect looked up at her, mouth moving to form words he never quite said.  He threw a pointed glance over at her partner before finally vocalizing,

“You just ...just  look like someone I used to know,” it was a lie and it was a bad one.  Garcia leaned forward in her chair ready to push on this weak point.

“Tell me more about..”

“Your reports are in,” a uniform officer had swung open on the door, gripping the doorjamn to lean casually into the room.  Jeffery stood up from his chair.

“Stand up straight officier.” Starled, the man stood to full attention.  Jeffery toss over his shoulder a ”You got this?” Becca nodded even though he partner couldn’t see it.  With the other detective gone the suspect’s attention was fully focused on her. Tired brown eyes roamed over her face for a long silent moment.  She met his gaze. Becca didn’t lose staring contests. When he finally looked away, he sighed and let his gaze fall on his own fidgeting hands.

“Does the world ever feel wrong to you?” Becca leaned back in her chair, trying to examine his face the way he had hers, but he was talking to the table again, head bowed and long hair shrouding his face.

“What do you mean by that?”

“I use to get this feeling sometimes like … like deja vu but not.  I knew what everything was just sometimes I’d see a book or shuffle deck of cards or smell incense and I could feel this blank spot in my brain, like they had a meaning or purpose I couldn’t quite remember.  But the moment I felt it, it was gone,” he looked up at her. “Don’t you ever feel like you’re forgetting something? Memories fading before the original thought’s even finished. There’s all these things you need to  do, you just can’t remember what they are.”

“What is it your suppose to do Quentin?”

“Lots of things, like you wouldn’t believe the list,” Garcia grabbed a nearby pad of paper.

“Tell me your list.  Is killing girls in ironic mexican restaurants a completed task or ongoing? ” his leg started bouncing again.  He swayed his head side to side as if cement mixing a thought. Finally he stopped, he raised his head and faced her head-on.  His features were soft, his round eyes were imploring honestity.

“I called you Kady because you are Kady.  Your world, your life is wrong like mind was.   And..and it sounds crazy cause it kinda is, but we were friends,” Becca raised a brow.  “Fine, we weren’t the closest in the group but we saved magic together. We’re… we’re brothers in arms or something.  Don’t you remember?” Beca schooled her face. This wasn’t a tactic she was use to. ”You and Julia were best friends, you fought a god, Renard, together,” a muscle in Becca’s arm noticeably twitched at that last name.  It only encouraged this insanity. ” We were at Brakebills together. The physical cottage, your drink was whiskey on ice, but you’d always sneak a few cherries in it after Elliot pour it for you. Once we were so drunk you showed us this Gypsy poster in your hung closet. Remember Fillory?  Well... I actually don’t know if you ever went to Fillory. Bad example,” Becca shook her head and glanced down at the man’s file. Quentin nearly shot out of his chair. “Penny! You loved Penny and he loved you. You were his heart. You wanted to go to the underworld to bring him back.” Becca felt some ill defined emotion wash over her.  “Just remember,” Quentin encouraged.

It was tempting.  Becca wanted to touch this feeling, linger in it until she knew what it was.  Detective Garcia, on the other hand, knew it was time to snap back to reality.

“St. Luke’s? Mercy psychiatric?  Sound familiar?” the head of steam the man had built up dissolved.  He hunched over the table again and averted his gaze, focusing on some part of the wall behind her.

“Those were voluntary.  I just had some bad days.  I’m depressive not delusional,” his speech was empty, mechanic, and well practiced.  He smiled ruefully and shook his head. ”And you know what, if you were going to rewrite my complete fucking life anyways, the least you could do is tighten up the old brain chemistry tad.  I don’t think Dean Fogg ever really liked me much.”

“Who’s this Dean Fogg?” Quentin’s shoulders drooped.   

“It doesn’t matter.  I told you everything I know.  Can I go?”

“In a rush to get somewhere?”

“There’s this person I take care of.  They can’t be alone too long.”

“If they’re completely dependent on you we could have social services...”

“No!” he all but jumped across the table.  “Second thought they’re fine … good, good even..”

They were interrupted by three sharp raps on the two-way mirror.  “I’ll be right back.” Becca got up from the chair leaving Quentin hunched over the table, fingers flexing into different shapes.  Walker was in the adjoining room holding a stack of papers. Through the two-way mirror, they watched Quentin give his handcuffs a pull before leaning down to look closer at the lock.

“Were you able to get anything more out of the guy?” Becca trusted Jeffery without reservation, well almost without reservation.  Her arm twitched again as she replayed the man’s words in her head, leaving her awash in some foreign feeling.

“Just more of the same.  What did coroner say?” her partner peeled the first few papers off the top of the stack.  By now Becca had read her fair share of autopsy reports, but she had never seen one with inconclusive given for cause of death.  She flipped through the pages, inconclusive seemed to be the answer to every question the form posed. Becca held up the papers. “What?”  Jeffery shrugged.

“Long story short, they have no fucking clue what did it or how it could have been done.  Said it look like intense physical trauma, but that originated from inside the body. Medical examiner thinks it’s some kind of secret military shit or a new virus or something, but she’s a conspiracy nut so who knows.  But if we can’t explain how someone could have physically committed this murder...”

“We can’t charge anyone with it.  We cut him loose. I’ll go give him the good news,” Becca looked at her partner from confirmation, but all he did was point towards the two way mirror.

“Who that hell is that?” A caucasian male, tall, dark curly hair, was leaning against the integration table talking to her suspect.  He was wagging his finger in the other’s face, some playful admonishment. “Is he from another precinct?”

“No.”

“Then how’d he get pass the whole goddamn bullpen.”

“Let’s ask,” Garcia rushed and slammed open the door to the integration room, hand hovering over her weapon.  The tall man yelped at the noise and grimaced. Their suspect held out his hands defensively in front of the other, well as much as he could still chained to the table.

“Sorry.  I’m sorry about this but everything it fine.  He … he just doesn’t get why he can’t be back here.” Garcia rounded one side of the table while Walker flanked them on the other side.  She looked to the tall man. He seemed rather at peace after the initial surprise.

“How do you know this man?” she addressed the tall man pointing down at Quentin.  He smiled vacantly and rolled his eyes.

“He’s my Quentin of course.  I tried waiting but it got boring, so I’m here to take him back,” his smile was unchanged but Becca’s hand went from hovering over her weapon to resting upon it.  Quentin was trying to lean his body over the table to put some space between them.

“He’s my friend, and I’m kinda his caretaker.  I told you about him,” Quentin looked pointedly at her.  ”He’s just not quite in… in step with the rest of us ok when it comes to this stuff.  I’m sorry. He’s sorry.”

“I’m not sorry,” the tall man shook his head in the springy fashion of a child.

“How did you make it pass everyone outside?” Walker demanded.

“I didn’t see anyone,” Jeffery let out a bit of scoff but the man didn’t seem to know what that meant.  

“Did you go with Quentin to dinner last night at a place called La Hacienda?” Becca asked still slowly encroaching.  The tall man paused before answering. In any other situation, she would think Quentin was feeding him the correct answers, but he never even looked in his direction.

“No.  I don’t know what that is,” the tall man looked down at his friend, pouted and whined.  “Can we go? There’s nothing to do here,” both detectives stood down.

“It..it doesn’t work that way,” Quentin spoke sternly but gently to the man, softly shaking his head.  Still his eyes were pleading a bit too much. Walker got out his keys and headed to the table.

“You’re free to go.  Coroner hasn’t declared any apparent fowl play, so we can’t hold you,” her partner leaned over and undid the Quentin’s cuffs. The taller man draped himself contently over the smaller man as he stood.

“Make sure he doesn’t do something like this again.  Other cops won’t be quite as understanding,” Quentin nodded and squeezed out of the other’s grasp and begun herding him to the door at top speed.  They were almost out the door when the taller man stopped, reversed and slowly approached Garcia despite Quentin trying to pull him back towards the door.  Her hand drifted back down to her holster. His hand shot out and he wiped his thumb across her forehead, hard.

“You had a smudge,” the tall man gave a smile that was too saccharin to be sincere.  “That should clear it up,” Quentin grabbed his friend’s hands in his.

“Buddy you can’t do that.  You can’t just touch people’s faces,” still gentle, still stern, but with pleading bleeding into panic.

“She had a smudge,” Becca reflexively ran her own hand across the forehead. She could feel no residual smudge, but there was a headache was beginning to form behind her eyes.

“Sorry about that.  We’ll work on that. Are we still free to go?” Becca nodded numbly while Jeffrey reminded them to stay available and in the city for possible further questioning.

“Of course.  Thanks, it was really good seeing you. If...” Quinten shook the unfinished thought from his head.  He nodded to both of them and left, dragging the other behind him. The tall one turned his head around, smile still forged of plastic and just a touch of malice.  

“It’ll be nice to meet you,” he was hushed and finally dragged out of view.  

“Well turns out he definitely knew our John Doe this whole time,” Walker scowled.

“Seems pretty protective of him, but also…”  

“Little scared.  Makes sense why he wouldn’t give him up.  Doesn’t make a difference. Nothing we can do til we got a cause of death without it turning into a harassment case quick,”  Becca put pressure on her temples and squeezed her eyes shut.

“Are you OK?”

“Just a headache.”

“Yea, this job will do that to you.  Take five, I’ll get the paperwork started,” Jeffery squeezed her arm and left her alone in the integration room.  She leaned against the table, head bowed. On impulse she hopped up onto the table. In a practiced fashion, he legs folded and her back straighten into a subconscious lotus pose.  She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. As she cleared her mind, the pain subsided, but another thought grew. She had never been one for meditation before.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Parents, am I right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank again for your comments and kudos. I get so excited when they're in my inbox. 
> 
> Turns out I'm a very slow writer. But I also have a poor sense of chapter length so this chapter kinda became two. So it evens out? Hope you like it.

Garcia and Walker were in pursuit.  They were in a classic formation. The suspect had fled down the alley. Walker continued the pursuit from behind while Garcia jumped the fence and got out in front of him.  It was there that Becca dropped to one knee, swung her arms around her until they met in front and she pushed them forward like a goddamn superhero. This was not classic formation. 

The man knocked her to the ground easily, but by then Becca had regained control of her faculties.  Even from her low vantage point, a hard crack to the back of the shin with the baton dropped the man.  Walker was on him before it could turn into a wrestling match. Jeffery looked over to her as he cuffed perp, “Is that some kind of new karate you’re learning?”

* * *

Magdalen Kreo sat her desk returning what felt like her thousandth email of the day.  The fun part was over. The building had been designed and as of a week ago, Wilson Pharmaceuticals gave them the go ahead on their new head quarters down in Florida.  Maggie was emailing a politician to tell them to email urban development who in turn would have to email the zoning committee. She chewed her dark hair as she typed and tried to stay focus on practicalities rather than letting her mind run wild with the other buildings, the other cities, the other continents she could be designing right now.

“We got the go ahead,” Maggie’s second in command, Pari, bounced into her office.  ”You, me, and the whole team are going out to celebrate our massive success.”

“Massive success?” it was a good sale but hardly world changing.

“Sush, if it’s anything less than a massive success they'll take the company card away,” Pari pulled the little black piece of plastic from her pocket with all the illicit excitement of a kid showing off a joint in the high school bathroom.  “And you’re coming because those guys were assholes and everyone needs to blow off steam, including you,” Maggie pushed back from her desk. Pari pointed a well manicured finger at her. “Come on fearless leader, lead.”

“Fine. What do you have planned?”

“Saturday night.  Start at The L at 8, I know a guy, dinner, bottle service, maybe see a reality star.”

“Sounds good.  I’m sure the team will love it,” Maggie reassured. Pari smiled and slid the card back in her pocket.  Maggie looked back her email. ”I’m going to be late though,” before Pari could snap at her. “I volunteer at the hospice.”

“On a Saturday night? Why?  Is it a resume thing? Community service thing?” Maggie respected Pari’s ability to raise one eyebrow independently of the other.

“More of a spiritual fulfillment thing,” Pari grimaced at that explanation. 

“Ugh, you’re like actually a good person that’s frustrating.  Just tell me like once you elbowed a little old lady to get her cab.”

“I mostly use Uber,” Maggie shrugged apologetically.

“Damn.  Well after you get done saving the world or whatever, come to the party.  We’ll get you blasted on the company dime,” Pari swooped back out the door.  Maggie saluted her departing friend.

“Aye. Aye.”

* * *

Something was naughing away at Becca.  It was the feeling that there was something she was forgetting.  She kept checking and double checking locks, pouring over her calendar for a missed appointment, and rereading case files for overlooked clues.  There was something she was missing, but even the word for what was missing was missing. It was when she started tossing and turning on the third night in a row that she decided maybe what she was looking for was outside.  

It was an aimless sort of walk.  The kind she would never suggest a civilian take on their own in the middle of the night.  The safety of an area shifted quickly and the untrained were an easy target. Her feet defty walked her through steadily declining neighborhoods.  She pulled out her badge from underneath her shirt and let hang on her chest. She wasn’t on duty, but it was a quick way to tell everyone she was armed.  

Finally, she came to a sudden halt at a store front.  It was nothing special. One of those bodegas that changed hands every few years.  The sign was cracked, the store was dark and empty, but it had an energy about it. Something left over.  Residue. Grease drippings in the air. She rubbed her fingertips together as though she could touch it and her headache got a little worse. 

* * *

Kady tried to plant her feet on the pavement, but the worn tread of second-second-hand sneakers and the spindly legs of a nine year were not up to the task.  Her mother continued to pull her along the city block.

“Most kids would love to have a day off from school.”

“I don’t wanna go there again,” her mother glanced back at her.  

“Doesn’t matter.  I’m the parent I decide where we go. Besides it’s better you learn more magic.  What can they teach you at that school that can compare with that?” Kady wasn’t opposed to the concept of learning more magic, but school was a nice reprieve.  It was clean, activities and meals were clearly posted on the wall, and her and the other girls were learning how to flip off the monkey bars.

“I don’t like you spending too much time with that woman anyways.  She thinks she better than us,” Kady thought her teacher Ms. Kino gave too much homework but was otherwise fair.  

Kady’s backpack bounced hard against her as her mother took a hard turn into an old convenience store.  The plastic sign over the door was cracked and the paper posting the hours was yellow and curled at the edges.  It was like most hedge safe houses. 

While her mother went to go talk to the man at the counter, Kady wandered down the bodega’s one aisle.  Letting her finger draw lines in the dust that covered the outdated products. When she made it to end, she peeked around the corner.  The man was leaning over the counter. He had a large hand on each of her mother’s shoulders.

“I’m not leaving her alone with these people.  They’re all out of it,” her mother weakly shook her head. 

“We can lock her in the storage room.  Nobody will get her in there.”

“I don’t…,” the man causally leaned back.

“If you don’t want to do this, I got others who will.”

Kady was dragged into the storage closet.  Her mother tossed a ragged binder filled with mismatched handwritten pages at her.  “Elemental magic - 1” was scrawled across the front in metallic sharpie.

“Here, just read this til I get back ok.  You can probably even try the first couple,” her mother’s voice was a comforting cheap, undercut by her bloodshot eyes and twitching hands.  She smiled at her once more before the door shut and the lock clicked. 

Kady slumped to the floor resting against some bags of rice.  

She flipped through the binder.  The ones that were simply motions and words she already knew.  She could move her small hands to create little wind ripples, pull a droplet of water from the air, and hold a small flickering flame in her hand.  The rest of the spells were filled with twisty math symbols. An older student helped Kady with her long division problems when she got to go to school.  

She tossed the binder aside the held her bookbag against herself, cuddling the synthetic fabric.  If her mother didn’t remember she could produce a flame, Kady doubted she remembered the time her boyfriend thought a child couldn’t get charged with breaking and entering.  Her mother dumped him before any larceny took place, but he did have enough time to teach her how to magically turn a lock.

Kady stood, stretched her little shoulders and went to work.  She used her left hand to carefully position her right hand into the correct shape.  She planted her feet and stared down her target. She moved her hand in the wiggly triangle motion she remembered.  It took several tries, the lock giving a teasing jiggle every so often. Then after what she was pretty sure was a thousand tries, click.  Kady picked up her backpack and walked out. 

The backroom was fairly sparse, some table and chairs, one wall lined with filing cabinets filled with spells her mother would kill for.  There were adults but none took notice of her, two people were at the table, eyes closed, blissed out on some spell and another was sprawled out on the floor passed out.  

Coats and purses had been left in a pile next to the door. Kady searched pockets and purses for loose change, finding enough for bus fare.  She would get detention for being late. It would be nice to have a reason to stay late.

* * *

The store was long empty.  No magic, no profit in illicit magic.  Kady slumped down on the store’s stoop. The rest of her memories filled in slowly.  First just words, stories told by a stranger. Then black and white movies. Distant and flat until the color and sound began bleeding in.  Lastly emotions welled and latched on to each one.

“Fuck!” she banged her head back against the door.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Push-me-pull-you

Eventually Kady stood up and beelined for the precinct.  It was well past bar close and the graveyard shift was on duty.  They spared her a few glances and the occasional knowing look. A stressed-out detective showing up in the middle of the night to pour over case files was unfortunately not an unusual sight.  It didn’t take long to find Quentin’s contact information. She scribbled down his phone and address on an envelope and headed outside. The words magic, real memories, and gods were likely to be said with great sincerity and frequency.  Privacy would be needed.

Kady pulled out her phone.  A few missed calls and a voicemail were listed on her lock screen.  Her mom had called. Becca’s mom had called twice. She tapped the voicemail and listened to her mother’s voice.

“Hi Becky, it’s your mother.  Your uncle needs to know if you’ll make your cousin’s birthday party.  He wants a headcount. Don’t know why, he’ll make way too much food either way.  Love you. Call me back.”

Kady listened to it two more times and then headed to Jersey.

* * *

“Hi, I’m Maggie Kreo.  I’m a volunteer. I’m supposed to be reading to Mrs. Goldstein today,” Maggie stood in front of the nurses station.  It was a pretty typical hospital facility. Everything made of gray and beige plastic, cork boards filled with patients’ names and duty rosters, those cardboard decorations only found in hospitals and elementary classrooms.  It was completed with an acerbic nurse scribbling notes into an almost teetering pile of charts.

“You missed her.  Mrs. Goldstein died two days ago.  Have some contact info if you want to know when they’re sipping shiva but don’t feel like you have to go,” he didn’t pause a beat to let that sink in.  “We got a new one for you though. You’ve worked with people with dementia and delusions before,” this was the first time the nurse looked up, eyebrow raised in challenge.  

“Yes,” Maggie nodded dumbly.

“Good,” the nurse looked back down at his charts, writing with his right hand and pointing down the hallway with the left.  “He’s pretty clear in the moment. Likes board games. Third door on the left.”

* * *

Kady slipped into Becca’s childhood home.  Becca’s mother, Rachel, had insisted she keep a key.  It would still be a little while before her mother was awake.  She took off her shoes and dropped into a chair in the living room.  

Kady’s grandmother, Becca’s grandmother had taken to scrapbooking since she moved to the senior center.  On her last visit, Kady had gotten the impression the scrapingbooking was secondary to talking shit about the knitting circle.  Still it had lead to a shelf of lovingly produced scrapbooks.

Kady pulled a few down and started to thumb through them.  There was one from when she was a toddler. She was squeezing a stuffed elephant that now lived on a dresser in her apartment.  There was one all about her softball days. All-state champs, everyone was very proud. Her mother worked so she wasn’t at every game, but she took a few days off to go to state with her.  There was picture of them standing next to their sedan. The cheerleaders had painted it with slogans and team numbers.

Kady’s head snapped up at the creak at the top of the stairs.  Becca’s mother steps were tentative no doubt due to the mystery light downstairs.

“It’s OK.  It’s just me,” her mother had reached the bottom of the stairs.  Her look was questioning and concerned “I missed your call,” was the only explanation Kady gave.  Becca’s mother considered her daughter who had arrived unannounced in the night to sit slumped in a chair surrounded by family memories.  

“OK,” Rachel bit her lip. “I’m going to make you breakfast.”  

* * *

 Maggie found the room, the printed out plaquer said Ted Coldwater.  She peeked inside. All the rooms in a facility were the same, but most people or their families tried to personalize them.  Blankets from home, pictures of kids, one woman even brought her own curtains, but this man’s room was fairly bare. Some books and board games stacked on the dresser and little else.  

“Julia?” the man called over to her from the bed.  Maggie shook her head and pointed to he own chest.

“No, I’m Maggie.  I’m a volunteer here.  Thought you might like some company,” it was the standard introduction.  What little excitement was in the man’s face burned out immediately.

“You too then?” the man’s smile was fatherly and sad.  He turned and stared out the window whispering a bit to himself.

“If you would like to be alone..” his head drifted back her direction.

“Checkers, you use to like checkers, wanna play that?” they began their game in earnest.  Even with it set up on the tray table swung over the bed, Maggie had to move most of the pieces for the man.  He was shackled down by the tubes and wires that snaked out from under the sheets. The monitors they fed into steadily beeped, filling the silence.  The man kept eyeing her. Maggie sat up a little straighter in retaliation.

“I use to call you “Pickles” when you were little.  You were always at the house. We didn’t like pickles but you did so we always had jar of ‘em.  Julia’s jar. Jump that piece would you,” Maggie made his move for him losing a few pieces of her own in the process.  “It was like losing two kids when you went off to college together,” Maggie had worked with people with dementia before.  Arguing with them was rarely productive.

“The two of us?”

“You and Quentin, my son, your best friend,” Maggie crowned his king.

“Has your son been by to visit?”

“No,” he weakly shook his head, the movement set off a bit of a cough.  Julia reached for the water but he waved her away. “I think he’s like you.  Doesn’t remember enough to visit.”

“Do you have his number or maybe his address?  We could try to get a hold of him.”

“They took everything of yours and Quentin.  Erased it and filled up the space with something else.  Suddenly I had a home gym, but no family,” Maggie passed up on the opportunity to take three of his pieces in a single move.

“Any other friends or family that might know where he is?”

“No. They forgot too.  I think I only remember because of this,” he gestured to his head, the left half had been shaved, the incisions still red and swollen.  The last ditch effort surgery before plans for cures become plans for comfort. “Couldn’t get any more broken I guess...”

While they played, the man continued to tell her stories of her childhood as he remembered it.  Coloring on furniture, his son’s short goth phase that she’d put a quick end to, and the time she and Quentin swore they saw a ghost.  It was all quite charming while being terribly unhealthy and surreal.

“I know you’ll find him.  If you find him too late, just watch after him for me.  He… he needs people,” Maggie tried to smile and nod, she really did.  

“It’s time for me to go,” there was a digital clock on the bedside table.  The man grimly nodded.

“Maybe I’ll see you next time?”

“Maybe,” Maggie put the checkers back on the desk and made for the door.

“Have you ever read “Fillory and Further”?”  the tone had the cadence of a final plea. The content was a little from left field.  Maggie paused at the door and turned around.

“The kid’s book?”

“It was my son’s favorite.  I think you’d like it too.”

“I’ll have to look into that,” she humored, smiled, and waved before walking out the door.

Maggie stopped back at the nurses station on her way out.  The nurse made about the same amount of eye contact as before

“The man I talked to today, Ted Colton?”                         

“Coldwater,” the nurse glanced up.

“Right.  He talked about his son a lot.  Is he...” he shook his head and went back to making notes on the his stack of patient files.

“Real? No.”

* * *

Becca’s mother was by no means a great cook, but she had the basics down and Kady couldn’t remember the last time she had a home cooked meal or really a proper meal at all, so toast, slightly burned bacon, and scrambled eggs was nice turn of events.  

“So how’s work?”

“Work’s good.”

“Are you sure?” it was the tone parents use when they are sure their children are lying, but are offering them a second catch to tell the truth.  “Well, I know I’m not a cop but I’ve seen TV. It’s high stress, plus you just came off your under cover thing. You couldn’t talk to us or anyone else that had to be lonely.”

“It’s not that.  That operation actually went great,” Kady shrugged and walked over to fill up the toaster again.

“You want more toast?”

“No,” her mother’s exasperation was a tone she was familiar with. ”What has you feeling like this? Is it money? You apartment?  Are you sick? A boyfriend? Girlfriend?”

“No, I’m fine.  My life is great actually,” Kady gripped the side of the old countertop. “That’s the problem,” Kady was unable blink away the tears the formed.  Her mother scrambled and found her some towel to dry her face. Rachel rested one hand on the small of her back.

“I’m sorry honey, but I don’t see the problem.”

”Cause I can’t… Can I? Can I just pick the life that makes me happy?”  Rachel put her hands on her shoulders. Her eyes flickered and her mouth open and shut in a few aborted attempts to say the right thing.  When she finally started, she slowly place every word as though afraid they might tumble.

“You protect people because I like to think I taught you that everyone deserves protection.  But you forget that means you deserve protection too. You need to know it’s Ok to chose yourself sometimes.  OK?,” Kady put her arms around her mother and held on for a long moment. Rachel let her go and just regarded still searching for the problem she might have helped solve.

“Of course I will always try to protect you and that would be a lot easier if you would just take a job at the police station here in town.  Plus your grandmother would like to see you more,” Kady laughed, one of those terrible wet barks the only exist total despair and total joy. Undaunted her mother continued.  “You wouldn’t be so stressed out down here. We don’t have all the drugs and murders that you have up there.”

“I hate to break it to you Mom, but there’s tons of murders here in Jersey.”

“I bet they could use another homicide detective then.”

* * *

Maggie was hung over.  Pari was good to her word.  Corporate was money spent, people rejoiced, and Maggie was draped across Pari’s couch to sleep it off.  Morale was boosted for phase two, endless red tape.

Maggie slowly peeled herself off the couch and wander into the bright, bright light.  She was pulling out her phone to get a car when she spied a bookstore across the street.  The smell of its fresh coffee found her and she had no choice but to follow it back into the store.  She had grabbed an Americano and was back to calling up her car when she saw it. “Fillory and Further” the boxset nestled on a shelf alongside vampires, death matches and other young adult fascinations.  She juggled her coffee to tuck the large and surprisingly heavy box under her arm. She checked out just as her driver pulled up.

In the backseat, Maggie slit open the shrink wrap and extracted the first hardcover book.  She opened to the first page, rereading the title, examining the little ram clock illustration.  

“What’s so special about you?” she said it to herself, but apparently the book was also listening.  The back of the front cover rippled like a pond before settling again. Now in green crayon written in shakey letters of varying sizes was written “Property of Quentin Coldwater”.  Below in the blue, bubbly letters of a little girl was written “AND co-property of Julia Wicker.” Maggie threw the book so hard into the seat in front of her it bounced back and hit her in the shoulder.

* * *

Kady open her apartment door and tossed her keys and badge into their dish and put her coat on its peg.   The apartment felt warm, filled with scent of body wash, detergent, and dish soap that was distinctively hers.  She pulled the envelope with Quentin’s info on it out of her pocket. She reread it before tossing it in the trash.  Then put the trash can under the kitchen sink for good measure. When she turned around he was there.

“Hey,” he waved, smile fighting his naturally sour expression to cover his face.  His eyes were soft in a way she had only seen directed at her. His suit was immaculate though it still looked like a foreign skin draped over him.  For the first time in this version of her adult life she found herself crying twice in the same day.

“Penny.” she wiped her face. “Are you my Penny?”

“Don’t think I ever came close to belonging to anyone else.”  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The boys will return. Rest assured they're off doing something very boring right now.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Penny for your exposition

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the comment and kudos. Love them. 
> 
> You guys said some really nice things and it was very encouraging. Thank you. But I still don't know how long a chapter should be so two chapters again.

“This life is a good look on you,” Penny’s eyes scanned the room landing on her cadet portrait. “You’re far more law abiding then I’m use to but who am I talk,” he smoothed the lapel of his gray suit.  It had changed since last she saw it. No longer an off the rack uniform, it was tailored made.

“Apparently time turns us all into losers,” he smiled.  Kady started across the room towards him, slightly hating herself for wanting one those big Hollywood embraces.  The nice thing about telepaths was he was already on his way to her.

* * *

 

Thirteen minutes, Sam slept in about thirteen minutes later than Quentin.  It had taken a few weeks, but Quentin had gotten his daily run to store down to a tight twelve.  Wake up, sit straight up in bed like they do in the movies. Sandals, longer coat equals appearance good enough for public consumption. Run downstairs. Grab any new magazines off the self.  Hard diagonal over to cold cases for dairy. Before the case’s door can close snatch some packaged meal at random. Crane-game-style claw up some candy, the only thing Sam daned to eat. Slap money on counter.  Be silently judged by the cashier/owner of the store who clearly thought he was insane, but was practical enough to appreciate him as a regular customer. So much so he would roll over his change into the next day purchases, which had shaved those last thirty seconds off.

This left a minute to haul ass up his five story walk up.  Quentin while not in bad shape didn’t really go to the gym before this.  Luckily, Sam’s understanding the human physique was still spotty at best, so the fact he found Q huffing and puffing in the the kitchen each morning, must be a typical byproduct of his fragile form.  So he would just smile and knock the breath completely out of he with a hug. Slightly painful, but better than dealing with the emotional manipulation Sam wielded when he felt abandoned and the generalized fear he felt anytime it was left to its own devices. 

* * *

 

Later the two laid out on Kady’s bed, limbs interlaced.  Penny idly let his hands run along the outlines of her ringlets while scanning the new Kady’s room. “Is that a stuffed elephant?”  Kady nodded by way of rubbing her face the pillow.

“I’ve had him since I was little… kinda.”

”Woman you are grown now,” Kady rolled to lay on her back.

“I love that elephant.  Like way more than you,” Penny laughed.

“I don’t do competition Dumbo’s going down,” Penny sat up and slid back against the headboard.  He stretched his arms as Kady propped herself up on her forearms.

“Not that I couldn’t do this for the next decade or so, but technically I was smuggled up here to just give you a message,” despite herself she looked up expectantly. ”The moron’s going to need your help.  That thing from the castle followed him out,” Kady thoughts blinked back to the interrogation.

“That wasn’t Elliot’s new persona,” Penny shook his head.

“It’s the monster in his new Elliot suit,” Kady rolled out of bed and pulled back on her jeans.  

“What is it capable of?” Penny tried to reach out to pull her back onto the bed but she was hunting for her bra by then.

“Haven’t gotten a straight answer on that yet.  The word chaos was thrown around alot. Apparently it’s a mistake of the gods, so its capable of a fucking lot when it wants to,” Kady looked out the window pensively clasping back up her bra.

“How is everything ok?  I mean shouldn’t blood be running down the street or some shit?” Penny threw his feet over the side of the bed and stood up.  The suit they had thrown onto the floor disappeared and new one wrapped itself around him. He adjusted his cuffs.

“Credit where credit’s due Quentin makes a pretty good single mother.  I dunno if the imprinting is magical or because it’s just socially damaged, but either way it’s latched onto Quentin and he’s keeping it occupied.  But he can’t keep this up forever.”

* * *

 

Before the incident, Quentin would merely take Sam with him on his daily errands.  After being in the same castle for millennia, the plethora of items and their colorful packaging at the grocer's was still novel enough to keep him entertained.   But Quentin had imposed a house arrest on the two. Drawing attention from the authorities would draw attention from Brakebills and the Library eventually. He had even decided against trying to talk to Kady again as it would almost certainly end in a papertrail.

Fresh air was an oxymoron in New York, but initially they had tried to spend some time in the buildings few outside areas to compensate.  The fire escaped lurched before Quentin had managed to put both feet on it. They discovered his upstairs neighbor Mrs. Harowitz had been feeding pigeons on the roof, making them rather terriorital.  

Luckily, it turned out there was quite a bit inside to keep them occupied.  History, movies, and culture kept his attention. Q gave up on math and science after the hundredth time Sam had pointed at his book or calculations and insisted that wasn’t how it worked.  Whether Sam actually had some greater insight or was just bored with the material was never sussed out, the books were just put away. Sam did seemed to have some instinctual knowledge of the universe, magic, and the like but no formal education.  Thousands of years together and Ora had never taken the time to teach him to read or write. The hoped was this endeavor would kill some major time, possibly years, but Sam had progressed from the ABC’s to children’s books to anything he could get his hands on at a surreal rate.  As with all of Sam’s accomplishments, Q didn’t know if he should feel proud or deeply concerned.

At first Sam had bucked against his new form of imprisonment, but quieted down after the compromise.  Sam would choose to enjoy their time inside together and Q would refrain from asking yet again who the woman in the restaurant was.  Most times Q had asked about her, Sam’s eyes would dart and he would pinch at the skin on Elliot’s wrists, leaving little red welts that existed just long enough to maximize Quentin’s sympathy.  Only once after a long day inside did his response change. Sam snapped at him. Eyes dark he simply said he could handle it. It was much more worrisome then no answer at all.

* * *

 

Kady looked at Penny’s immaculate and apparently purely magical three piece and pull on her now wrinkled shirt back on.  “It took major magic to find a way just to talk to you in the underworld, nonetheless bring you up here for a face to face.   Who in the library has this kind of power?”

“The library didn’t send me up.  They think I’m cataloging sexts,” Kady took the time to make sure her look was incredulous.  Penny slightly lifted his hands in defense. “Largest repository of information in this and all worlds.  It’s a relatively new section.”

“If not them then who?” Kady felt her shoulders harden into their interrogator pose.  Penny glanced at the wall as he answered. He sighed and let the words drop.

” Hades did,” Kady beelined out of the bedroom.  Penny followed behind her. Kady spun on him.

“Hades as in the god.  As in Lord of the underworld  As in Reynard’s step-father.”

“He’s kinda a cool guy when you get to know him.  He’s got this chill about him.”

“He kidnapped Persephone and forced her to marry him,” Penny nodded in agreement and shrugged in the same movement.

“That was a shitty thing to do but it also thousands of years ago,” Kady fell into her chair in the living room.  She pressed her palms against her closed eyes and tried to center. The fact her next words only came out as a frustrated yell was a testament to her abilities.

“I’ve tried to fight gods before.  It’s not easy. And this time I’ve got no magic.  So unless you’ve got another magic bullet in your pocket not sure what I can do.”

“We just need someone to monitor the situation and be close when they figure out what to do.”

“We?” Kady bit into that word.  ”Why can’t Hades do it himself?”

“Apparently Gods can’t easily destroy each other’s creations.”

“What about the god that made the monster?”

“The gods executed him for creating the monster,” Kady let her head drop back against the top of the seat and laughed.

“Fucking geniuses.”

Penny took the seat across from Kady.  Her hands were grasping the arms of her chair, fingernail flicking a loose thread.  The rasp of nail on fabric filled the room. Penny shifted around until he ended up sitting in the same position minus the thread pulling.  

“So Hades sent you to recruit me to be his human triggerman. Why not ask Q?  He’s equally powerless and has a better vantage point,” Penny leaned forward and gave her a hard look.  

“Quentin can not know any of this.”

“I know he’s not your favorite but he probably deserves to know he might get eaten or whatever,” Penny rose from his chair.  His hands found hers on the chair’s arms, bending his tall frame over her. A chance to comfort and loom all in one.

”Out of all of you, do you know why it picked Elliot to possess?”

“Proximity, happenstance, physical appearance?”

“Because he wanted to start out as something that Q already loved,” Kady pushed up and through him to stand again.

“I know they were whatever but do you really think Quentin was in love with Elliot?”

“I know he was,”  Kady simply waited. ”When they were solving the mosaic it was years of marriage, rising their kid, growing old together, pages and pages of domestic bliss.”

“You read...”

“We read it for book club.  It was part of our “The Return of the Magic” series.  Happy lives are fucking boring reads, but Mariel loves that shit and it was her week to pick.  Quentin will protect that thing with his life because he thinks Elliot is still inside it.”

“Is he?”

“If there’s no way to get him out, does it really matter?”


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Putting the puzzle pieces back together

Kady stood outside Q’s building for a moment.  She sat on the stairs for a moment before walking the rest of the way up.  She paused a moment before rapping three times on the door in rapid succession, the traditional police knock.

Quentin peeked through the door crack before receding back into the apartment.  Kady listened to the door chains drop and watched Quentin reappear. He smoothed his slightly disheveled manbun and made eye contact with her boots.  “Detective. How… how can I help you today?” Kady pushed in past him. The Elliot monster sat on the couch working on some jigsaw puzzle. He didn’t spare a glance on her entrance.  She watched him try to force the next piece on.

“You don’t need to call me detective.   It’s just me... the old me,” Q attached onto her from behind, arms encircling her chest, his face press against her shoulder blade. The hug lingered.  She patted his arm. “I’m here to help. Even with him,” the monster’s movements stiffened just a tad. Kady knew it was listening even if it wasn’t looking.

“I really need to take a shower by myself again,” he muffled against her back. Kady breathed in, query on her lips.  “Please no follow up questions.”

* * *

 

Kady and Quentin sat across from each other at the table, heads bow in conspiring position number one.  Uninvited, Sam had come over and crouched at the head of the table. His eyes flickered between the two.

“I think we need to find everybody else first,” Kady shook her head.  A not quite dry spill welcomed her when she tried putting her elbows on the table.  The table was covered in magazines, books, food particles, and other assorted nonsense.  It was a mess like much of the rest of the apartment.

“They’re safer not knowing who they are, from both the Dean and the Library and all our other assorted enemies.”

“No they’re not safe.  If they don’t know who they are, how can they protect themselves when all our assorted enemies come looking for them?”

“I can keep them safe,” Sam chripped.  Kady didn’t spare him a glance. Quentin noncommittally nodded in his direction.

“Besides, I think we need them,” Q jumped up.   “One sec,” he yelled back as he ran into the bedroom, reappearing with a messy stack of paper pressed against his chest. The papers spilled over the table, creating a second, cleaner layer.  Kady plucked one out of the group and examined it. Obviously painstakingly drawn, a blueprint of the fountain, annotated with notes and runes, magical pipelines noted in blue, the whole pile was variations on a theme, analysis of fountain that restored magic.  Q snatched one paper seemingly at random. He traced along some pipelines that ran perpendicular to the key holes.

“The locking system seems to be two part.  The god component, so the actual keys that Julia made and the human component, our will to see magic return.  Human parts are linked to us now,” Kady looked over the paper at him.

“It seems like you want us to turn off magic again.”

“Only for a second.  We’re not going to be able get anywhere near the siphon while there’s prue magic flowing through it.”  Kady deflated as she read. The math was good.

“I’ve got the NYPD at my disposal.  Might be able to convince the sketch artist to give us something we can run through the system.”

“Why?” Sam interjected, brow furrowed.  Quentin turned to him.

“If we can do that, we can compare the drawings to the pictures we have everyone,” Sam’s frown deepened.  ”Remember my driver license,” he started to reach back for his wallet.

“No.  Why are you doing that. I’ve already found everyone,” Kady raised an eyebrow at Quentin.  It had the cadence of a parent explaining the rules of a game their child made up to another adult.

“He did a spell.  It’s suppose to bring everyone back together.  He says that’s how we found you.”

“You found me because you shattered a woman.”

“That was an accident… in self defense.”

“What kind of spell did he do? Was there a ritual? Power source? Hand positions?”

“It was kinda like this,” the other magician lifted his arm and dropped it straight down.  Sam nodded in confident self-pleasure, pointing at the performance as though she could have missed it. Kady stared for a moment and pushed away from the table.

“I’ll go call my guy,” Q sented an apologetic look as Kady got up and went over kitchen to make her phone call.  When he looked back, Sam had filled her vacated seat.

“Why is she doing that?”

“It couldn’t hurt, right?” he tried for a light, placating but not patronizing voice.

“She doesn’t understand our plan.  She’s wasting time,” conservatively his voice dropped an octave.  Quentin responded in the measured fashion he was growing accustomed to.

“Your spell’s not exactly... fast moving.  I know you think we’re being impatient but... you’ve been alive a lot longer than us. Time is.. It’s just different for us,” Sam studied him, slowly bending his neck to get a different view until his head bumped his shoulder.  Q sat up a bit straighter and held eye contact, ready for a tranturm or offhanded threat.

“Don’t you trust me?” it was an accusation.  It was vulnerable and desperate. Quentin found he couldn’t look him in the face.

“Of.. of course, I do.  I do,” he ventured a look back up at Sam.  His eyes were narrowed a scowl cutting his features. A large gust of wind, originating from an interior wall, threw everything off the table as Sam stalked away.

“What the hell man!” bedroom door slammed shut.  “You know that’s not ok,” Quentin yelled after him.  

“What was that?” Kady flew to his side.

“He just got mad,” Q shrugged.  He eased his way onto the floor and started reassimilating his piles.  Kady checked the door before moving closer.

“Are you losing control over that thing?” it was a harsh whisper.  He looked up at her quizzically.

“It’s.. it’s not about control”, Kady glanced at the door again before joining him on the floor.  She started to stack up magazines while Quentin reorganized his fountain schematics. ”This is the first time he’s wanted to be separated from me,” he added quietly a moment later.

“Isn’t that a good thing?” he shrugged and kept working.

“What’s up with all the magazine’s anyways?” she held up a Guns and Ammo.

“The selection downstairs isn’t great.  We’re working on his reading. With print he can underline the words he doesn’t know.”

“Like orgasm,” Kady pointed to an underlined word in a Cosmo that was open on her lap.  The page was immediately ripped out and stuffed in Quentin’s jeans. Kady looked pointedly at his pocket.  “Yeah, that’ll fool him.”

“One horrifying situation at a time,” he started to flip through the pages looking for other problematic words when suddenly he came to a dead stop.  

“What?” the magazine was opened to “The Fabulous 40 Under 40: the Future of Fashion.” Quentin pointed to the group photo.  Several business people in their finest, photographed on risers like an elementary school class. Kady eyes searched the photo until they landed on a woman with dark hair on the far left.  She was staring down the barrel of the camera like she was the only one in the shot.

“Margo,” there was a crackle in the air.  The floor was once again clear and the items were back on the table, better organized than before.  Sam was sitting at the head of table where he had merely been crouched before. Quentin only had the two kitchen chairs, so he had to assume Sam had conjured this new one.  Sam sat still, staring forward into the wall, hands folded in front of him.

“You really need to learn to trust me.”

* * *

 

The backs of Janet’s feet were bleeding.  Eight hour flight, interminable stint in customs, the basic indignity of grabbing your belongings off a conveyor belt and stuffing them onto a too small cart.  Taking off or changing her shoes was not an option. She had just negotiated their designer’s position under her corporate umbrella. On a slow day she was paparazzi fotter, it wouldn’t do to miss a chance to advertise or worse imply that two inch quilted patent leather heels were uncomfortable.

Despite the delays her car was not waiting for her at the curb.  She had to text again. Several minutes she could see the black town car approach, weaving through traffic with sudden panicked jerks.  When it finally pulled up next to her, the driver just rolled down the passenger window.

“Found you. How was the flight?” Janet tipped her head towards her luggage cart. “Right!” The driver bounced out of the car and jogged around to the other side.  He swung the backdoor open, then affected some little bow where he pointed her into the door like a maitre d.

The door slammed shut so quickly it nearly caught Janet’s jacket  The car bounced as he loaded up her bags. She slowly removed her shoes to see the salmon lining dotted with red.  The polyester blend had dropped the unit cost and had a nice on shelf sheen but it was hell to break in.

“So how was the flight?” her driver, Griffin - first name, last name she wasn’t sure, popped back into the driver’s seat.  She nodded curtly and pulled out her phone, indicating this was a time for silence. “Did you hear all the pigeons are dying?” Janet had made it through maybe a quarter of the emails she missed while negotiating customs when he spoke again.

“How’d the mayor pull that off?”

“No one knows,” he tried to make some ill advised eye contact via the rear view mirror.  “Huge mystery. The universities and CDC and government have been trying to figure it out.  Think maybe it’s a disease or bacteria or something. This guy I know thinks it’s like one of those little birds in mineshaft.  The yellow ones. Canaries! Anyways they die first so you can get out. So we might all die, but no pigeons. Regardless the smell is terrible.  My neighbor is trying to like taxidermy them into an art installation which like who’s that..” Griffin had been hired on a few months ago. He had managed to keep his job because Janet saw something in him, well actually around him.  Little dull flecks of gold wafted around him, occasionally they would shimmer when he’d talk about tending his, she assume prominently cannabis, garden.

Janet was not a crunchy granola girl, but she trusted her own eyes and paying attention to the colors of auras had paid off in the boardroom more than once.  She had yet to suss out what her driver’s coloring meant, so she kept him on. It always seemed the in minute you threw something away is the moment you find its use.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's some confusion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everybody. Only one chapter this time. I've got quite a bit of the next few written though, but instead of waiting til they're all done I thought I'd give the slow roll out thing a try. It's an experiment. 
> 
> Thanks for comments and kudos. I love them, without them I would at best think these things, I'd never be so productive as to write them down. Thank you for that.

“Janet Lance.  28, single, created her own company straight out of Wharton pairing upper-end fashion with mass production,” once again around the table, Kady scrolled on her phone, reciting facts as they came up on her screen. ”Some charity work, but all high society, donation stuff.  She dated a Yankee.” 

“That’s in the her police record?” she flipped her phone around so Quentin could get a look.  Google. That made more sense. Kady dropped her phone back onto the table.

“I can look up her address and any known contact info tomorrow at work.”

“So, what, we just knock on her door?  That doesn’t feel very... magical,” Kady looked to Sam.   

“Well, this is your spell.  What do we need to do to jog her memory?  Introduce ourselves? Take them somewhere familiar?”

“I just have to get close to them.  Then,” Sam drew a line in the air. From him it was an action demonstrative enough to be accepted as a complete explanation by the group.  

“So, we could just throw him in the lobby of her office and wait,”  Kady suggested. The smile was not appreciated. Quentin sat up straighter and smoothed back his hair.  His eye contact was stern and evenly divided between the two.

“He’s not going out until we figure out who attacked him.  That’s… that’s final,” just once it would be nice if it was final.

“I told you I can handle them,” Sam accused.

“There’s also the pending murder investigation,” appealing to Kady.  

“I wouldn’t worry about that,” her shrugging off a murder did not feel very cop like.  ”Don’t get me wrong, it’s a hundred percent clear that you two are responsible, but until a cause of death can be determined, we can’t charge anyone with anything. And since cause of death was magical shattering, I don’t think I’ll be getting a corners report anything soon,” she didn’t look directly at Q as she amended.  “I get the impression he can handle this and a lot more.”

“Well I’m glad you two are getting along.”.  

“We can’t do this without leaving the apartment.”

“I.. I know. Just if… fine,” he muttered.  Sam perked up, buzzing with energy, pulling Elliot’s body to its full height.

“Can we go now?” 

“No, tomorrow,” Sam deflated prompting Quentin to relax his authoritative stance and put his hand on the other’s shoulder.  “It’s late it’ll be tomorrow soon.” Kady took in the tableau for a moment. Sam was still sulky but dropped his head to tap his cheek against Quentin’s hand.  Kady chose to interupt.

“How long will it take afterwards? Days?  Weeks? How long did it take you?” Quentin drifted back into his own personal space.

“He found me on the street and it was kinda... instant I guess.  Like... it all crashed into my head at once. Took a couple hours to adjust back.  What about you?”

“Days,”  she pointed at Sam. ”Why would it be so different between us?” he skewed up his face. 

“Human brains are.. brittle.  They need time, they take time,” no further explanation was forthcoming, so Kady closed their little meeting.

“Ok, you two will wait outside her office while I’m at work.  If she doesn’t show we’ll use my badge to get into her building tonight.”

“Sounds good,” Quentin nodded and Sam gave an enthusiastic thumbs up.  Quentin looked a little smug. “I taught him thumbs up,” he was clearly very proud.

* * *

 

It was getting late and there was the whole safety in numbers thing, so Kady was staying on the couch.  The sheets were dirty and they had to vacuum some of the larger crumbs off of it, but Kady was polite enough to point out she had slept in far worse accommodations.  It took some work but Sam agreed to let Kady entertain him long enough for Q to get his shower. It was glorious.

Changed into his pajamas but still drying his long hair Q returned.  Sam was waiting for him in bed reading some young adult book about vampires that Brian thought he had successfully hid behind the bookshelf.  He always cacconed himself in the sheets and blankets, creating a little nest Quentin would be integrated into when he laid down. Toweling his hair, he watched as Sam read, his face telegraphing whatever was on the page.  In these quiet, companionable moments, he was just Quintin, he was just Elliot and everything was rather pleasant. 

“I wanted to say thank you,” regrettably breaking the silence.  Sam continued reading but absentmindedly responded. 

“You do say that a lot, but I thought you had to,” the towel was tossed aside.

“No.  I wanted to say thank you to you,” he looked up.  Sam’s attention could be so easily lost and yet so inexplicably gained.

“Why?” the confusion on his face was honest.  Quintin sat down on the bed next to him. He placed his hands on his arms, keeping his focus on the conversation at hand.  

“I know you were not excited at the idea of my friends returning, but you’re bringing them back anyways.  It’s good. It’s a good, nice thing you are doing for me and I wanted to say thank you,” there was no real response.  He just chewed his lip, eyes cast down. Finally he wiggled out of his grasp and laid down.

“I’m going to sleep,” he simply announced.  Quentin stood up and watched him snuggled in.  He grabbed the towel off the ground.

“Ok.  I’ll be there in a sec.”

* * *

 

Quentin and Sam sat on a ledge outside of Janet/Margo’s building watching an older man use a push broom to sweep pigeons off the sidewalk and onto a tarp.  The upside of having been essentially imprisoned the past little while is they had avoided the more extensive cleanup efforts. Quentin frowned. Pigeons were terrible gutter rats with wings but that probably didn’t warrant genocide.

“Don’t worry they deserved it,” Sam said idly swinging his feet.  It was about midmorning. There had been no Margo sightings as of yet.  The executives had arrived in a wave of black towncars. If she had been among them, they had failed to pick her out of the ocean of people on the sidewalk.  

Quentin knew since they missed her going in, they probably had missed their chance all together and would have to wait to go with Kady tonight, but being outside was proving a nice change of pace.  Sam was developing a taste for people watching, and Quentin was liking being around other adults again. So they sat outside on cloudy day watching people broom up pigeons.

Around lunchtime, they went back to monitoring the building more.  Anonymous suits were pouring in and out, not quite the sea from before but still it was still difficult to make out any details.  It all seemed a bit hopeless when Quentin spied a brunette coming out of the building. Right build, right height, right general level of haughtiness.  

Quentin grabbed Sam’s hand and ran after Margo.  Weaving through the crowd, they followed her from the entrance of the building to the pick up/drop off zone down the street.  Finally catching up, Q grabbed her shoulder. She spun around. Not Margo. Just a woman who was run down by two full grown men.  

“A.. hi.. Um,” why he looked to Sam for help in a social situation he’ll never know.  The drivers standing next to their cars had taken notice.. “Did.. did you..drop your keys?  Back there… there keys fell,” he held out his own keys to her. Blessedly, she just smiled defensively, shook her head and walked away without taking his keys.  

Quentin was ready to go home now, their plan a failure flavored with embarrassment.  He started to drag along Sam who randomly decided to make himself much heavier. When he turned to get a better grip on him something caught in the corner of his eye.  In a towncar, glasses askew on his face, mouth agape, gentle snoring, Josh was napping in the driver’s seat. Sam smiled like the fucking cheshire cat.

“We should go say hello,” he teased.

“It’s not necessary for you to look quite this pleased with yourself.”   

* * *

 

Working for the upper crust had its advantages, the money was good, the car was fancy, and clean uniforms just appeared every morning.  Downside was it took three trains and a lot of walking to make it from the upper crust to where the lower crust such as himself resided.  A train delay and sudden deluge of rain made the journey a little more harrowing than usual.

“Finally, I was going to give up on you,” David, his roommate, was sitting in his recliner eating out of a shiny metal takeout.

“Looks like you did,” Griffin grumbled.  David was currently stuffing another dumpling in his mouth.

“I got hungry, sides it’s just an appetizer,” chewing through his words.  “Some assistant was picking up this huge takeout order but he thought, I dunno, the carrots were burnt or something.  Anyways they told me to throw it away, so I put in my locker,” the counter in the kitchenette was covered with takeout boxes of a various sizes and shapes. Griffin peaked inside one to see a little beef Wellington just waiting.  “Creme brulee is going to be awesome especially after we smoke.”

“That, my fine sir, sounds like a lovely evening.   I’ll go see what’s ready,” Griffin ran back to his room.  He threw his wet coat onto the floor, aiming for the dirty, but not crazy dirty section of his clothes.  

The central piece of furniture in his small room was not the bed, but a tall bookshelf that had grown so heavy it had begun to indent thin wall it leaned against.  Creating most of the weight was that each shelf was filled to the brim with exactingly labeled glass jars all containing slowly curing buds. Griff got on his tiptoes to find the right one.  The plant was his third generation of this particular strain. With a little cross breeding, the flavor was developing nicely. It should be smooth with notes of citrus with grape and earthy undertones.   Prefect for fancy ass food.

In short order, the food was reheated, the apartment was plunged into by a peasant haze, and the two roommates were slowly melting into their respective chairs.  David put on a foreign film, aka kung-fu flick, to keep shit cultured. The emperor had banished the hero to the great mountains of … somewhere. The hero lived in a cave, training, preparing for his great return.  Deadly serious, Griffin held up his hands practicing the super secret fighting stance. This guy had really upped his game in only a few weeks, meditating, catching flies in his bare hands, Griffin was sure he probably could have gotten that good if he didn’t have to spend all his time avoiding the locals and growing his own food.  Apparently life was easier in the somewhere mountains than it was in the Neitherlands. Josh’s hands dropped. 

Once Griffin had written the great American novel.  The story had come full formed. Language tight and reflective of his generation.  A direct line to parallel universe that he could describe with clarity and simplicity like god damn Hemingway.  He had been high so it bleed out of his ears before he woke up the next morning. The loss had been a huge bummer for the entirety of society.  These new thoughts were delivered in a similar, crystalized info dump but Josh suspected it wouldn’t leave him the next morning. 

“I think I might be werewolf.”

“Like,” David held up his hands in front of his mouth, fingers extended into makeshift fangs.  Josh nodded. “That’s awesome,” Josh grimaced.

“No,” he sighed.  ”It’s gonna suck.”


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Back in the game

Josh climbed into the driver’s seat and jerkily merged into traffic.  Margo/Janet, head down, typing away on her phone was reflected in the rearview mirror.  

“Hey boss.  How are you doing this morning?”  No answer was given, none was really expected.  Josh had spent most of the night wondering how to tell someone their life was a lie because of magic and not sound insane.  No concrete ideas had formed. He gripped the wheel. Impulsive instinct became his main game plan. Margo was his friend after all, even if she was a little scary sometimes, so approximate honesty was the best policy.

“Have I ever told you about my cousin,  _ Margo _ ?” the glance up tended to mean she was at least listening.  “Well  _ Margo _ , _ Margo _ is the kind of person I think you would like.  You and  _ Margo _ would have a lot in common”,  he chanced a look back at her. She wasn’t not listening.  “For instance, you’re both intimidating and stylish. Take no shit, getting things done through whatever means necessary.  Like diplomacy one holster, gun in the other, ride or die kinda bitches,” a bemused smile and a raise eyebrow.

“She had this friend  _ Eliot _ .  Gay best friend, it’s like a little codependent.  She liked  _ Eliot _ a lot, possibly exclusively.  She would remember  _ Eliot _ . They were always like cool and snarky together. Well they were actually kinda mean sometimes, but like in a fun way sexy.  I didn’t think it was sexy presay. I mean we’re just friends. I know we are. There was this song. Bowie,” she put her phone down next to her.  Cool eyes met his in the rearview. 

“Also she’s your cousin.”

“Right,” that plot point had escaped his memory.  

“Your cousin looking for job or just testing the waters of public acceptance?” it was a familiar scandic tone. 

“No.  She has a good job.. two technically,” almost passing the building, Josh nearly horizontally threw the car into its parking space, walked around, and let Janet out of the car.  He snatched up her computer bag much to her surprise.

“I can carry my own bag,” she reached out for the bag while he pulled away.

“No, I’ll get it today.  I know the backpack one’s are not super fashionable but the single strap one are hell on your back,” he jogged out in front of her.  Like a horror movie villain she was able to catch up to him by the time he reached the double doors walking only in a confident stride.  Executives had their own private elevator leaving them alone once again. Josh decided to just go for it.

“Do you ever relax?  Just chill. Like herbally maybe?”

“Are you offering me pot?” disbelief and exasperation were not his goal.

“It has really helped me remember who I am.  It like opened my eyes to the world.”

“My eyes are open enough,” her voice was icey and resigned.  The elevator doors open. She snatch her bag out of his hands and exited.  The doors start to slide back out, Josh grabbed one in his hand, moving to awkwardly straddle the line between the elevator the floor.  Curious heads turned. The audience was an unfortunate addition, but Josh didn’t know if he would be allowed to broach the subject again.

“Do you ever think about magic?  Like about it being real,” she paused.  “I think it’s real,” strangely this seemed to peak her interest a little bit. Walking back to the elevator, she stood close enough he almost receded back into the car.

“Can you do anything magical?” her eyes darted about his body, scrutinizing him like a new blouse for production.

“Yes.. well no.  I used to be able to.  I think I might still feel it with my plants, but its not like it was,” her smile was sour and tight.

“No doubt your plants are magical.”

“I grow like zucchini too,” he said a little red faced.   ”Wait, can you do anything magical?” her face was stoney. The various office staffers were craning their necks to get a better look.  Even with them standing so close it was clear everyone could hear them, or at least was trying desperately to. Her voice dropped to a whisper.

“Look, I’m trying very actively not to fire you.  Go home. If you ever get this high before you drive me around again, I will invent new forms of hell for you to enjoy,” she began to walk towards her office.  Josh had lost a lot of jobs. One more couldn’t hurt. 

“Why don’t you want to fire me?  You should. I know I’m not like great or anything.  You recognized me. At least a little bit. You can see that we’re connected.  Right?” her petite form spun to look at him once more, a lot of gravitas stuffed into such a small frame.  

“Home.  Now,” he stepped back until his back rested against the elevator’s mirrored walls.  The doors slid shut. 

* * *

 

Janet’s grandmother had been from the old country.  She brought with her a never ending supply of folktales and superstitions that seemingly served no purpose but to scare her more guible cousins.  One night before bed she gathered them around to tell them of how demons and ghosts would steal the very breath from their lungs. The only remedy was to hold your breath inside your body where it couldn’t be reached.  Her cousin with the too precious pigtails held her breath until she passed out, because one of the boys slipped up to the attic to make ghostly footfalls. These stories did not compel little Janet, she didn’t believe in anything she couldn’t see.  When her sight kicked in, her beliefs grew and she better understood her cousin’s fears. 

Returning from a lunchin, Janet spied two men sitting on the concrete ledge outside her building.  They had drawn her eye initially because she thought a street lamp had fallen. One of them glowed like of fluorescent light, sharply illuminated from the inside.  People accented with sparkles, lines, tints were rare. Most people looked the same to her as they did to anyone else. Her eyes took a moment to adjust, to compact the light for her own sanity.  The man-bun with green constricting around his chest was talking to the little nuclear reactor. Then there was a third man initial obscured by the light. He was almost as novel as the first. Perhaps it was hereditary.  They were undoubtedly twins. Where his brother was light, he was shadow, a cellophane photocopy of a photocopy standing sullenly behind the others. He was the better dressed of the two however.

In her peripheral, she could see the first man’s glow darken, red and black, but just as bright.  He had followed her eyeline to the ghost man. Noticing their attention, the ghost looked up and soon his eyes were on her.  They shifted from fearful to soft to stren. He slowly shook his head and deliberately lead her gaze back to the other two.

Man-bun had caught sight of her as well.  His wave was insecure but friendly. The light one’s focus recentered on her, his aura remained stormy, but he smiled and waved as well. WIth a curt nod to these oddities, she briskly walked inside.  The elevator was several floors up before she felt her lungs burn unbearably. She wasn’t sure when she had started holding her breath. 

* * *

 

As Elliot exited his entrance interview, a small burnette grabbed his arm and linked it with hers.  

“You look like you’ll make it,” she gave him a cool once over.  ”and if you do, based on what I’ve seen, you’ll be the only interesting person in our year.  Except for me of course. I purpose an alliance at least until I can’t stand you anymore,” he looked over the short ball of energy and confidence.

“Should we toast to our new treaty?” he smiled bemused.  And Brakebills had its new power couple. 

The physical house had always been the party house, but they ascended it to new levels.  Gleefully holding court over their subjects. Needless to say the third years who spent years climbing the ladder to become the defacto house leaders were pissed.  When the trials came around it was a perfect opportunity for them to break up the duo. 

Typically, forcing two people to share their utmost truths with each other was a great way to assure that those people would never want to see each other again.  Better yet, as there appeared to be little open honesty in their superficial pairing, they’d fail and be gone all together. Thus Margo and Eliot were naked, painted, bound to each other and desperately trying to be introspective.  Not a skill either had ever developed, so they had chatted about this and that at the beginning before falling into a deep silence. 

“If we fail to have our breakthroughs, we’re still going to be friends right?” Margo ventured.

“Of course,” Eliot frowned. “Well assuming we’re allowed to remember each other I guess,” he squeezed her hands.  “No worries Bambi, either way you’ll go back to your fabulous life and friends, you won’t even remember little Eliot, spell or no,” she craned up her neck to look at him with open disgust.

“No it won’t.  You’re my friend.  You’re my best friend,” Margo looked down at her bare mud caked feet.  ”You’re the only friend I’ve ever had and I mean ever.”

“You’ve had other friends,” she shook her head.

“I really haven’t.  Not when I was kid, not when I was in college, only you.  I can’t stand most people and I know most people can’t stand me.”

“People like you,” weakly trying to counter her all was self-evident tone.

“I throw good parties, I give good head, and I can instill fear in the hearts of most men,” she smiled ruefully.  ” None of that adds up to affection. I like it that way. They don’t care about me I don’t have to care about them. But I care about you which is fucking stupid and terrifying,” Eliot open his mouth to speak, but was interrupted by their rope giving a little shake.  Margo couldn’t help the emotional one-eighty. 

“Yes!  We are back in the game!”  Margo pressed herself against him.  “Honestly El, I want you to know you can tell me anything,” the clock chimed in the background, only fifteen minutes left.  ”but you’re going to have to do so in timely fashion or it’ll ruin both our lives.”

“No pressure though,” Elliot moved them over to awkwardly sit on a bench.  Cool night, stone bench, everyone naked, made not have been the best decision but it did feel good to sit after standing so long.  

“Just try something sad, nobody’s utmost truth is a happy thing,” Margo suggested. He spoke half to her, half to the rope itself.  

“Let’s give this a go.  I was a fat kid. Like professional level eating my feelings.  Kids bullied me. I felt shitty about myself for a long time,” Margo nodded along she had heard most of this before.  When he finished they looked at the rope expectantly. It was unmoved.

“So years of therapy inducing torture is not enough,” the fun part of being a magician was having personal vendettas against inanimate objects.  Margo brushed her shoulder against his.

“Just tell another sad story.  Just push through them until something catches.”  Elliot breathed in.

“I killed someone,” nothing.  She had also hear some of this story.  Essentially, it had been listed as an extracurricular on his Brakebills admissions form.

“Major, but I think it needs more than that,” Elliot chewed his lip.

“I was a fat kid.  He was a bully. There was this bus coming.  And I just sort of made it jump the curb and it killed him.”

“Was that the first time you used magic?” he nodded.  Margo paused trying to formulate the right thing to say.  Finally she went with, 

“Shit happens,” he giggled feeling a wee bit hysterical.  They pulled at the rope again. It didn’t budge. “Really a murder confession isn’t enough for you.  I think our rope might be a dick.”

Down the quad a couple cheered as they were freed.  Margo glared over at them. “I call bull shit on that.  They’re fucking physics. They already know everybody’s utmost truths,” another indifferent clock chime, they were heading into the final five minutes.  Margo sighed. “We can always be hedge witches. Not the dirty junkie ones but like the Mexican drug cartel ones.”

“You were made to rule the world,” he looked down at his hands, scratching his nails together.   “I might have one more thing to try,” Margo perked up.

“Awesome.  Let’s get this train a rolling man. ”

“You’re… you’re not going to… you won’t see me like this anymore,” he was rigid, even the muscles in his throat were pulled tight.

“I can handle it,” he tried to nod but was still too stiff.  His head just jerked slightly.

“I’ve been lying to you, to everyone really.  This isn’t who I am,” he tried to gestured to his body but the rope got in the way.  Margo cocked her head listening. She didn’t like being lied to, but she was also pretty good seeing the truth in things.

“Ok.  Then who are you?” Eliot looked like he swallowing down his own bile.

“Some fucking hayseed, farm kid.  I grew up in rural Indiana,” Margo shook her head.

“I thought you grew up in New York, that you’re some society kid.”

”Like I said I’m a liar,” his eyes glistened.  ”I grew up poor with no culture, no fashion, no cuisine, barely an education.  Still I was smart enough to get into a college far away. Packed up my oversized K-mart hoodies and bussed it to the coast.”

“Ok.  How did Eliot Eliot happen?.”

”One day I saw this guy out walking downtown.  I liked his look.”

“Did you talk to him?” this was a more typical trajectory for their conversations.  Her tone was subconsciously salacious. 

“No.  Wasn’t talking to men, or anyone, yet.   He was some kid with money from the city.  I was invisible so I followed him around all day.  I took note of everything he bought then went back and maxed out my credit card to copy him exactly.  So a lot of debt for while, but I got home, put on these clothes from some mid-level designer I’d never fucking heard of and I wasn’t me anymore,” despite being teary eyed, but Elliot still genuinely smiled at that thought.

“You single-white-femaled him,” Margo said in awe.

“Yea, since then my life’s purpose has been to hide that fact and become the person you see in front of you through any means necessary.  I am a very carefully crafted lie personified,” the rope loosen and fell with two minutes left. Margo stood and stretch out her body and rubbed her sore wrists.  Elliot remained hunched on the bench. Her dark eyes consider him, recataloging her thoughts of him colored with this new information.

“Well, if you are a lie at least you had the decency to be an entertaining one,” he peered at her through the curtain of curls.  ”Did you ever go back? To Indiana I mean. Show them the majesty that you’ve become,” he hid his face again. 

”Going back like this would turn subtext into text and people love those little bits of deniability that you give them.  Pretty sure Dad would just get his gun and be done with it,” he shrugged as though there was a light hearted interpretation of his previous words, ”but you know me, I’m prone to dramatics,” he tossed a freed hand into the air.

“Well fuck them then, you’ve got...” it was rather painful to turn into a goose.

* * *

 

Janet woke up. Upon returning to her office, a migraine severe enough to demand a power nap had formed.   The respite had been informative if not relaxing. Dream’s were rare for Janet, but she had had enough to know that was not one.  She canceled all the remainder of her appointments for the day.

Her destination was clear.  She would probably want to change into something cheaper before she headed over there.  

* * *

 

The buzzer rang out in Josh’s, Griffin’s apartment.  He wasn’t expecting anyone but he buzzed them in anyways.  The city was dangerous. Sure, it could be robbers, but it could also be girl scouts selling delicious cookies and he liked to think of himself as an optimist.  A few moments later, there was staccato knock against his door. 

“Coming!” he yelled as he ran over to the door and started undoing the mess of locks.  The door flung open to show Margo/Janet. It was the most casual ensemble he had ever seen her in, yoga pants and a t-shirt.  The combine value of which was still probably higher than his paycheck. Being out of heels, she loomed a little less larger than usual. His sudden height advantage was relished.  

Janet walked into his living room/kitchen/dining room, scanning their movie posters, drug paraphernalia and second hand furniture.  Upon reaching the couch, she gingerly started to remove items littering the cushions. Josh hurried and cleared enough debry for her to sit.  

“Are you growing Hepatitis on purpose or it that just a fun side effect?”  

“No worries, we don’t have anything you haven’t been vaccinated for,” he said with a smile.  She placed herself in the exactly Margo sized clean spot, while he plopped down on the other end of the couch.   Josh tapped his fingers against a jiggling leg. Statuesque in her calmness, she probed him with an analytic look.  

“So about earlier today...“ He started only to be quickly cut off.

“You think it’ll help me remember all this?” she whirled her hand, dismissively gesturing to the entire universe.  “Your magical weed?” slightly choking on the phraseology. He sat up, smiled with excitement and nodded vigorously.  

“It helped me remember that I’m not Griffin and your not Janet.  I’m Josh and you’re...”

“Margo.  Yes, I got that much from your monologue. So light it up or whatever,” shrugging and lean back against the couch.

“Right now?  Right here?” Josh pointed to the floor as though she may not be aware of her current location.

“Didn’t cancel three meetings and dinner date with a solid nine to fuck around.  Let’s do this.” 

“Do women number men too?”  she was very efficient at reminding him when he was off topic.  ”Ok. So what’s your process? We can order food. You like to watch something, play a game, jam bands?”

“I’m trying to access repressed memories not to kill time in my dorm,” she snapped.  His smile faltered. Her hand went to her brow, pressing as though trying to reach through to some unseen pain.  “I like dumb comedies and indian food.” 

“Indian food?  Little outside of the box, but I can do that,” he went to retrieve his cell phone.  From another room he bellowed. “We’re also getting pizza.”   
“I wouldn’t say no to some cheesesticks,” she yelled back.

“Yes ma’am,” he said with a salute. 

**Author's Note:**

> I've been thinking about continuing this, going on to find the others, etc. I won't lie if anyone enjoyed this and feels like expressing that thought, it would be a motivator. So if you hated it, know your peaceful silence is discouragement enough. ;)


End file.
